


(Not So) Quiet Evenings

by Clearfear



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unresolved Angst, blood mention, castiel’s wings, minor injury, set during season six-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21745420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clearfear/pseuds/Clearfear
Summary: Castiel appears to Dean in need of shelter.Happy Birthday, quicksilver!
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	(Not So) Quiet Evenings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quicksilver (quicksilvermalec)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksilvermalec/gifts).



> This is a short fic written for my friend’s birthday.

Dean glanced outside as the same ad for Christmas shopping deals played on the television. He’d seen the ad so many times he could recite it from memory by now. Sam was out, grabbing them some takeout. He was taking his sweet time, though. Wind whipped against the windows, carrying fat droplets of rain with it. Instinctively, he burrowed deeper backwards into the pillows, absently humming _“All I Want for Christmas is You.”_ Damn ad had gotten it stuck in his head. 

He’d been so focused on thoughts of gloomy weather and Sam and Christmas songs that it took him awhile to become aware of the second presence in the room. The feeling of being watched crept over him slowly, an uncomfortable prickling in the back of his neck that him lunging for his gun and whipping towards the intruder. 

“Cas.” The angel stood there, not looking concerned in the slightest over the gun pointing at his chest. Maybe a little puzzled. Dean lowered the weapon with a sigh. “Told you to stop doing that.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“So, what’s up?” He stashed the gun back under his pillow. “Taken a break from the war upstairs to wish me a merry Christmas?” 

Castiel shifted his feet uncomfortably. “It’s the tenth. And Christmas is just a—”

“Right, right.” Dean cut him off. “What _do_ I owe the pleasure, then?” 

“I needed a place to rest,” Castiel admitted after a long pause. “And… I hadn’t seen you in awhile.” _I missed you._

Dean felt like an asshole. “Yeah….uh, make yourself at home.” He sat at the foot of the crappy motel bed and patted the spot next to him. “Watch some TV.” 

Castiel looked relieved at the offer, and took a seat, movements stiff and cautious. Dean shrugged it off. Angels were always stiff and cautious. “Ah, you probably want to watch something else,” he said as he remembered he’d been watching reruns of _Doctor Sexy_. “I’ll just…change the channel…” He grabbed the remote, squinting down at the buttons in the low light. 

“This is fine.” 

“If you’re sure…”[hmm] 

Cas gave a wordless nod, and Dean shrugged, leaning forward to watch the show. They sat there silently until the next commercial break, and Dean stood to get a beer from the mini-fridge. “You want one, Cas?” 

“…yes.” Dean raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t expected Cas to say yes. He popped the tops off the beers and headed back, handing one off to Cas. 

“Here ya go, buddy,” he grinned and patted Cas’ back. The angel flinched at the touch. 

“Cas…you okay?” He wasn’t hurt, was he? He would’ve said something… but Dean frowned at a glistening patch on the angel’s coat. 

“I’m fine, Dean.” 

“You’re _bleeding_ , Cas,” Dean said. Castiel looked a little surprised by Dean’s exclamation, trying to look over his back. And he was bleeding, scarlet blossoming over the tan overcoat. “Dude, why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” 

Castiel looked guilty. “I’m not.” 

“You’re not very good at lying, Cas.” Again, a flicker of emotion passed over Castiel’s face. Remorse? 

“Just…let me see. I’ve patched Sammy up more times’n I can count,” Dean said. 

“I’m an angel,” Castiel pointed out, but he stood, setting his beer down on the rickety little nightstand, and stripped his coat off. Dean stood by awkwardly as he undid the buttons of his dress shirt, one by one. Once it was off, Dean moved forward, focused on Castiel’s bare back, where a smear of blood stood out. He frowned, unable to locate a source. A bead of scarlet liquid seeped through unbroken skin as he watched. “Dean…” He ignored Castiel once again. 

“Wait there.” He rooted into his bag, found their “first aid kit”, and returned to Castiel’s side. Dean wet a clean rag with some cheap whiskey, and wiped the blood away. Still, he couldn’t see any obvious sign of injury, no reason for the mystery blood droplets…

He wiped at the spot as another drop welled up, pressing harder. Maybe a little harder than he intended, because Castiel let out a little gasp, and—

Dean wasn’t sure what he was seeing, at first. Jet-black feathers gleamed under the low lights, covering two huge, folded wings…that were attached to Cas. The angel turned to face Dean, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to do that, I’m—“

Wordlessly, Dean stepped forward, and noticed the source of the blood. There was a small gash in one wing, leaking bright Grace and blood. “Cas…” he’d never _seen_ the angel’s wings before, only the faint, menacing shadows of them, and they were…they were beautiful. 

He should’ve stopped, then, should have taken note of the wary look in Castiel’s gaze, the way he shifted backwards, the movement so tiny it was almost imperceptible. The onyx feathers looked so _soft_ , and before he could _think_ , just for a moment, Dean reached out and touched them. 

Castiel moved backwards hastily, face a mixture of emotions. “Dean, I…” He paused, looking lost, and then he was gone. It was over, just like that. 

“Cas, come back!” Dean yelped, but it was late, too late, _and why did he have to touch Cas?_ Now the angel was God-knows-where, bleeding, hurt. “Damn it.” He snatched his beer up to take a swig, and found his stomach churning. With a frustrated growl, he put it back down. There was a dull clinking thud as something hit the floor, and he turned his attention on it. Castiel’s untouched beer lay on its side, pale liquid gushing onto the floor. Dean picked up the now nearly empty bottle and set it back on the table carefully, even though the damage had been done, and flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, alone in the motel room that stank of spilled beer, wondering why he was such an asshole.


End file.
